The Warmest Snow
by GeneralCuster
Summary: Ulquiorra and Orihime meet again after the War. A pickle jar of ashes paves the way toward a startling romance. Well, startling to Soul Society and Inoue's friends at least. UlquiHime
1. Frost

_Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_My little horse must think it queer _

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year._

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake._

_The only other sound's the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake._

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep._

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

_-Robert Frost (1923)_

It had been nearly a year since Orihime had returned from Hueco Mundo to her life of bean paste dinners, studious school days, and lazy afternoons.

A couple months after her return she had gotten a part time job as a cashier at a local bakery. Not because she desperately needed money, but because she could no longer bear the pitying looks and awkward silences of her friends. The days where they laughed easily together after school seemed so long ago and her new job was a convenient excuse to escape the guilt they all shared, and yet would do anything to avoid speaking about. Somehow her precious nakama who had been her saviors had changed into people she no longer knew, though she suspected it was really her who had changed. Whenever they were together in a group Rukia and Tatsuki would often glance at each other when they thought she wasn't looking. She knew what they both suspected, but she refused to reveal much of anything to anyone about her time in Las Noches with her stoic captor, besides that she was well fed and well looked after.

Several downy snowflakes fell onto her heavy winter skirt. Looking up she noticed two businessmen shifting uncomfortably on their feet in the cold while waiting for the same bus that she was. Secretly she wished that she was captain of a ship braving the Bermuda Triangle with warm breezes caressing her legs, or an amazing super double agent Russian spy wearing warm fur-lined pants instead of the skirt that was required as part of her school uniform year-round. Shifting her seat on the frigid bus stop bench she observed the brightness of the quickly melting flakes against the dark backdrop of the skirt. The soft and yellowing green of a tenacious weed growing from a crack in the pavement made her think of emerald eyes and pale skin the color of meringue. She had always wondered if his skin tasted like meringue as well. Overly sweet and overly crisp. Or maybe he would taste like rice. Rice was white too after all. '_Foolishness'_. A stray tear gathered on her lashes. Reaching up with the cuff of her jacket she scrubbed away the urge to sob. Her lip trembled. It wasn't fair. She never even got to say goodbye. There was no conclusion, no closure. She didn't get to do, or say, or ask, half the things she had wanted to. She hadn't even been able to reach his hand before it had crumbled away from her and become lost in the wind. It amazed her how many tears she had shed. It wasn't as if he had been particularly kind to her.

Rukia and Tatsuki secretly thought she was suffering from an advanced case of Stockholm syndrome and that Ulquiorra had possibly used her as some sort of sex slave. Ishida knew of their suspicions and assumed they were at least close to the truth. They were wrong. Nothing untoward had happened to her in Hueco Mundo, except for one utterly unpleasant grope from the tall, leering Espada, Nnoitra. Ulquiorra had certainly never laid a hand upon her. The times they had touched had been brief and gentle. The longest their skin had made contact was when she had slapped him in anger. His iron-hard skin had instantly bruised her hand, bringing tears to her eyes. Most of their touches had not been touches at all, but mere brushes of air against skin; the movement of a cool hand a little too close for comfort, causing the air near her fingers to stir and caress her palm.

The businessmen in their neatly pressed suits with matching black coats and ties were gone. She had missed the bus that would have taken her to her workplace. Akiyama's Bakery and Patisserie. Akiyama Keiko and her husband Masaru owned and worked the shop. Masaru baked the breads and desserts while Keiko usually worked with the customers, taking orders and such. Orihime had been hired along with a young enthusiastic baker named Hideki when the Patisserie had experience a boom in popularity, as well as the expectation of a long anticipated baby for Keiko and Masaru.

A sigh turned into a puff of vapor in the chilled air. All three of the bakery's meager staff would be worried about her, but maybe missing one day wasn't so bad. Brushing the small amount of accumulated snow off her skirt and stretching the stiffness out of her legs, she stood and began slowly meandering down the sidewalk.

She knew where her legs would take her. Whenever she was in a melancholy or despondent mood there were only two places she went. Before her time is Las Noches she had only gone to one place; her brother's shrine inside of her small apartment that often felt far too big for only one person. Today, however, she wasn't going to see her brother.

The barren branches of the trees in the park were dark and drear against the stolid grey of the winter sky. Civil workers had filled in the crater that had been deemed a hazard to park-goers. But she could still tell that this was where it had been, once upon a time. The park was devoid of people due to the chill and the damp of the season. Leaving her free to crouch in the snow and carve out as many silly pictures as she wished into the thin layer of undisturbed snow without an audience. The slow, rhythmic crunching of snow behind her and the silence that ensued when the steps halted caused her to tense reflexively. She knew it was Tatsuki. Tatsuki always did this. It was as annoying as it was endearing. She knew the dark haired girl only did it out of love and a desire to protect her. But it could be so absolutely infuriating at times when she simply desired to be alone.

"Tatsuki, I know it's you." Oddly only silence replied to the orange haired girl. Usually Tatsuki would at least shift around in a self-conscious, semi-guilty way.

"Tatsuki!!!"

"My name isn't Tatsuki, woman."

She gasped. It wasn't possible. It had to be someone playing an awfully cruel joke. He had disintegrated into the finest of dusts before her very eyes. She had tried in vain for so very long to collect all she could of the fine powder and sew it back together with her so-called godly powers. But even the best seamstress can't thread a needle with air or use the moon for a sewing machine. The particles and ash that had once been Ulquiorra had proved impossible to put back together again. It had been a classic case of Humpty-Dumpty, and all her best efforts hadn't been enough to put her warden back together again.

Any faith she had ever had in her powers had vanished that day.

One gasp turned into two and she quickly began heading down the path toward a full on hysterical fit. She refused to look behind her at what had to be the product of her finally mad mind.

"Woman." A cool hand that felt warm in comparison to the frigid winter air gently grasped her shoulder and spun her around. A hand came up and brushed against her chin, forcing her to look up.

"Stop hyperventilating, woman. So that I may speak to you."

The nightmarish appearance of his second release startled her. It was him, but he looked…strange. Well, stranger than his already strange hollow self, if that were possible. There was a sort of odd transparency to him. He looked like he had been worn thin in places, like an old rag. His extremities appeared paper-thin and both his left arm and leg were merely spindle-like fragments just vaguely reminiscent of the parts they were supposed to be. His left horn was missing entirely, giving him an oddly lopsided look.

"Woman, you have the rest of my body." She was dumbfounded. What on earth was he talking about?

"W-what? I don't understand. How could I-?"

"The ash."

"I still don't understand. I-I'm so sorry. I couldn't bring you back. I tried." Her hand fluttered up to press over her mouth in an attempt to stem a tide of oncoming tears. He watched her stoically, as apathetic as he had always been.

"I know." His voice was monotonous, yet a barely-there flicker of sympathy seemed to pass across his face.

"Then how are you here? Now?" Her voice felt impossibly small.

"That is irrelevant at this time. I require the ash you collected to regenerate the remainder of my limbs."

Oh. Oh no. When she had been unable to fix him she had taken the desperately collected tiny pile of dust and brushed as much as she could into her skirt, creating a pouch in the white fabric to carry his ashes. After returning to her home she had dug around in her kitchen cabinets and managed to pull out an old pickle jar. She had thoroughly washed and dried the jar before funneling all the ash she could into the small glass container that now acted as an urn sitting next to her brother's photo.

She suddenly felt incredibly guilty and selfish.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes took on an inquisitive look."What for?"

"If- if I hadn't taken your . . . it . . . you would have been able to fully heal yourself. Right?"

"That is inconsequential. What has passed is done."

She reluctantly gave a small nod of acquiescence.

"Inoue Orihime."

"Yes?"

"It is best if we go now before your - friends - decide to show up. I am surprised that they have not shown up to protect you already." He flicked his eyes once around the deserted park before returning them to the young woman. Quickly releasing her chin from his thin, half-formed, needle-like fingers, he began walking in the direction of her apartment.

"Come."

She stumbled forward a few steps before collecting herself and jogging after him to catch up with his swift pace.

"Why didn't you just take it?" His eyes turned toward her though he still faced forward. "Your ashes, I mean." She clarified, as she jogged along beside him. He made a half-grunted sound that sounded quite a bit like 'ah', but she couldn't be sure.

"You seemed emotionally . . . attached to it. I did not wish to alarm you by taking it without your consent."

"Oh." She blushed. Her eyes strayed to his malformed hand that dangled listlessly at his side since he currently lacked pockets in which to put them. Tentatively she reached her own hand out and lightly grasped his. He abruptly stopped and turned to face her, studying her shy, apprehensive, and flushed face for a few seconds before simply continuing on. His spindly fingers that felt stiff and thin as sticks closing over, and lacing, their clasped hands.

A comfortable silence settled over the pair.

AN: I'm not sure when I'll find time to continue this fic, but if you have any ideas where you want this to go or what you want to see happen please review. You never know. I just may use it. (Actually, I need all the ideas you can give me! Please I'm beggin' ya!!! I have no idea what to write!!! *sobs*)

P.S. Please!!! If you see any plot holes or things that make absolutely no sense, TELL ME!!! I have a bad habit of believing people can read my mind.

**PREVIEW:**

The use of sonido on his weak and overtaxed body left him winded and feeling the disappointing lack of spiritual particles in the atmosphere of the human world. He felt staggeringly hungry. In his arms the girl was close, too close and naively oblivious to the danger she was in. Burying his face in her hair he inhaled deeply. She smelled extraordinarily good. Good enough to eat. She was rambling on about their almost encounter with the Quincy boy, but he couldn't concentrate on her words. The overpowering need for sustenance was taking a toll on his mind.

His lack of control was infuriating. He was a Vasto Lorde, not some sub-gillian Menos.

"DAMN YOU ULQUIORRA!"For once Ulquiorra was glad to see the Shinigami representative Kurosaki Ichigo. The Quincy boy was with him as well as the shinigami Kuchiki Rukia and the Soul Society outcasts Urahara Kisuke and Shihoin Yoruichi. He inhaled her scent one last time, then gently set her down on the rooftop beside him.


	2. White Lips Kissed

Disclaimer: I own no copyrights for anything and make no money off of this draining activity. It's a hobby that only feels like a job.

Disclaimer #2: There will be no kissing of white lips in this chapter! I repeat. NO KISSING!!!

* * *

Enjoying the winter phenomena of the human world was not something Ulquiorra had expected. Yet he found himself actually enjoying the crunch of the graying snow beneath his feet, the sight of the barren trees, and the steel grey of the blanketing clouds. It was decidedly different from Hueco Mundo's sandy deserts, and all he had know of earthly and unearthly landscapes during his life as a hollow, yet somehow pleasant in its quiet melancholy all the same.

The silence of the season remained unbroken as they continued on toward the apartment complex. Neither particularly wished to speak of their last moments together in Hueco Mundo. It was awkward to say the least. A person's dying words are often a confession they would have never otherwise uttered if they ever believed they would have to face what they had confessed in the morning.

The hunkered and scurrying forms of several humans passed them, paying no more mind to the bright-haired girl and her invisible companion than to anything else beyond their feet. The difference between these lowly humans scrabbling like near-sighted rats through their short lives and the girl beside him was self-evident to Ulquiorra. Walking along beside him with her chin up and her nose and cheeks pink with cold he realized once again what a remarkable and rare woman she was; a needle in a haystack, or more accurately, a jewel amid a trash heap.

"Um. Ulquiorra?"

"Yes?"

"Aren't you cold?"

He glanced down at the woman walking alongside him. She was obviously fidgeting with the long, belt-like cloth in an uncomfortable shade of orange that she had previously had wrapped around her neck. He was slightly curious. His knowledge of clothing, especially human clothing, was limited. The only clothes he had any sort of familiarity with were his uniform as an Arrancar and the uniform of the Shinigami of Soul Society.

W-would you like to wear my scarf? It might help you stay warm?" She offered a small hopeful smile along with the proffered 'scarf' that was suddenly much closer to his face. He understood that she was attempting to be friendly with him. After all, even hollows understand the concept of reciprocity. He already owed the woman enough, and the chill was not something that particularly affected him. A hollow's body does not need to keep a static temperature as a human body does. His body cooled and warmed depending on what conditions it was exposed to with no negative effects to his constitution.

"I do not need it."

Her smile slipped a bit.

"It should remain around your own neck, woman. It is used for keeping warm is it not?"He stopped suddenly, startling Orihime. He could clearly sense several high-level reiatsu's converging on their location. His foolish leisurely, yet enjoyable, stroll with the girl would have to be cut short. Grabbing the girl's 'scarf' from her hands, to ensure it would not be dropped in the snow, he swiftly wound it back round her neck. A partially muffled shriek came from beneath the sickeningly orange garment as a brittle arm snaked around her waist and roughly hoisted her up. Using sonido Ulquiorra pushed himself to reach the woman's apartment before the substitute soul reaper and his friends could overtake him.

The use of sonido on his weak and overtaxed body left him winded and feeling the disappointing lack of spiritual particles in the atmosphere of the human world. He hadn't anticipated his body to consume the energy from his last meal so soon. In his normal state the consumption of several Menos would have lasted him several months, yet with his already weakened body it was obvious he had managed to completely expend the same amount of energy in only several hours. He felt staggeringly hungry. In his arms the girl was close, too close, and naively oblivious to the danger she was in. Burying his face in her hair he inhaled deeply. She smelled extraordinarily good. Good enough to eat. She was rambling on about something, but he couldn't concentrate on her words. The overpowering need for sustenance was taking a toll on his mind.

His lack of control was infuriating. He was a Vasto Lorde, not some sub-gillian Menos.

"DAMN YOU ULQUIORRA!"

For once Ulquiorra was glad to see the Shinigami representative Kurosaki Ichigo. The Quincy boy was with him as well as the shinigami Kuchiki Rukia and the Soul Society outcasts Urahara Kisuke and Shihoin Yoruichi. He inhaled her scent one last time then gently set her down on the rooftop in front of him, keeping an arm on her waist in case he needed to make a quick retreat. That must have been what she had been rambling about. Her precious 'nakama' had witnessed her 'fraternizing with the enemy'.

"UUURRAAAAHHH!!!!"

That foolish orange-haired brat was making a direct charge up at him while Orihime was clearly placed in the least advantageous spot for her survival. Besides, though he was weak and tired he could still deal with the boy's bankai form. It would only become truly dangerous for him if the shinigami utilized the power of his inner-hollow. The foolish brat, or one of his friends, could also end up becoming his next meal if they played their cards poorly. Although that would be advantageous for Ulquiorra he doubted the woman would ever forgive him for consuming one, or more, of her friends. As Kurosaki charged forward Ulquiorra kept an eye on the outlaw scientist and his female companion. They were the true threats in the little group clustered at the base of the apartments.

Catching Orihime round the middle and pulling her to his pale chest he quickly leapt backwards over the peak of the roof just as Kurosaki landed in the spot they had been standing just seconds before. The now out of sight substitute shinigami was bellowing a string of expletives directed at the former Espada. Ulquiorra ignored the 'unnecessary racket', as he deemed it, and swiftly flipped himself and Orihime over the edge of the roof and easily swung her through the open window of her apartment without incident before following himself. Unfortunately, though the window was open, it was far too small to accommodate even a moderately sized Espada. The window was demolished, along with a sizable amount of the surrounding wall, as the steel window frame burst from the plaster and drywall. Ulquiorra easily snapped the metal frame from his chest, letting it carelessly clatter to the floor. '_Trash.'_

Orihime whimpered softly."Mrs. Hachida will kill me . . ."

"Mrs. Hachida?"

"The-the landlady!" Orihime visibly gulped before standing up from where she had landed after being expertly tossed through the window. Staring at the debris-ridden floor of her apartment she unsteadily surveyed the damage and attempted to mentally calculate exactly how much the repairs were going to cost. "She lives downstairs. Do you think she heard that?"

"Undoubtedly."

Orihime wilted.

Ulquiorra quickly strode over to Orihime's family shrine, and plucked the pickle jar off the shelf from amongst her brother's picture and various other related knickknacks. Orihime's eyes darted from the jar in Ulquiorra's clawed hands to his face, then back to the jar. Looking more embarrassed by the second.

"Uh, erm, sorry it's in a, ahem, pickle jar. I just used what I had at the time. I-I meant to buy a fancy urn for it tomorrow. Really."

Ulquiorra merely stood there, unresponsive to her attempt to explain away the very obvious pickle jar.

"Woman, we don-"

"ARRARRARRUOOHHH!!!"

As the door was kicked in and Ichigo and company burst into Orihime's suddenly overcrowded apartment, Ulquiorra snatched Orihime and turned to flee out of the large hole that had formerly been a rather nice window in an attempt to escape. He could not open a garganta in his half-starved condition, but he could try to outrun the shinigami for long enough to reabsorb the remainder of his ashes.

In a single fluid move, Urahara swiftly flash-stepped in front of a battle ready Ichigo, drew his zanpakuto, and pinned a distracted Ulquiorra by his shoulder to the wall. Orihime dropped to the floor along with the jar, which rolled to a stop near the feet of Rukia.

"I wasn't aware Espada were in the habit of paying house calls, Cuatro." Looking uncommonly serious the storeowner waited for an acknowledgement or explanation from the stoic former Espada.

Ulquiorra hissed as Urahara angled his sword slightly, hitting a sensitive nerve, when the arrancar remained tight-lipped and unresponsive.

Standing in a spot near the door, Ishida breathed angrily out of his nose as he tried to keep his composure. He would have loved to skin the Fourth Espada alive if he could. Unfortunately, it didn't seem as though he would ever have the chance. If they did manage to capture the elusive arrancar he would undoubtedly be sent directly to Mayuri's lab in Soul Society. Getting in a verbal dig, while petty was, sadly, the best he could do at the moment.

"How does it feel to be the last of your kind, Arrancar?"

"I was already aware that all other arrancar have been terminated, or otherwise disposed of." Ulquiorra stated dispassionately, meeting the Quincy's eyes over Urahara's shoulder.

Ishida angrily shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Hmph. I see."

Urahara's blade pressed harder into Ulquiorra's flesh in order to regain his attention.

"STOP!!!" All eyes turned onto Orihime. Who's flushed face was trained on Urahara's blade from which a thin trail of dark blood sluggishly trickled down the Espada's chest and rhythmically dripped to the floor.

"Please, Urahara-san! He's not evil!"

"He is still dangerous Inoue. Whether or not you ignore the fact is up to you."

Orihime leaped at Ulquiorra, startling the Espada, Urahara, and her friends. His eyes widening in surprise, Ulquiorra caught her as she hit his chest, plastering herself against him. He gave a barely perceptible shudder as her hands ghosted along his sides and clutched at his back, further driving himself upon Urahara's zanpakuto. His skin felt dry and just slightly rough. Like fine-grain sandpaper against her hands.

"Orihime!?" Rukia called in a scandalized and shocked voice from beside the couch.

"I'm sorry. But he's not bad. Please, you have to believe me!" Orihime's choked sobs seemed to make everyone in the room uncomfortable as Ichigo and Ishida shifted around uneasily.

"Woman, you need to let go." Ulquiorra said coldly, as he pried her off his front.

An unnaturally dark line of smudged blood ran down one side of her shirt. Ulquiorra's grip on her arms tightened, holding her at arms length. His weaker, less complete hand coming up to gently wipe away a few tears before pushing her away from him toward Urahara, who quickly steered her toward Rukia. Quickly catching her in an iron hold Rukia wrapped her arms around Orihime. Both to keep her out of the way and try to comfort her.

Yoruichi swiftly stepped up behind Urahara as he motioned her forward. After sharing a few whispered words Yoruichi gave a nod before taking a small metallic sphere from a pocket. Yoruichi took one flash-step, and before Ulquiorra could try to dodge or escape, placed it into his weeping hollow hole. Bands of bright purple light shot out from the miniscule ball hidden from view within his dark and cavernous abdomen binding him uncomfortably tightly and inescapably.

. . . . .

* * *

AN:

White Lips Kissed is the name of a song by Mew.

Lyrics(not that they're important or relevant or anything):

Wake me up

Only nightmares take me in

Through these walls the winter bites

A draft from all sides

Why did you not include me on your list?

Let me in through the ceiling

White lips kissed

Truthfully I didn't listen to this song _at all_ while I was writing this. I actually was listening to Dance of The Manatee by Fair to Midland and Split Needles by The Shins most of the time, until the part about the broken window, where my itunes suddenly switched me over to Spamalot if you can't tell. I feel like I've jumped on some sort of bandwagon by naming my chapters after song titles (I never knew I had so many songs that are related to snow/winter! Jebus!), but it's my fic and if I want to be unoriginal and put weird elitist poems and songs no one's probably ever heard of into my fanfiction then, _then I can't remember what I was going to write here. Make up something indignant_ _yourself._

P.S. I must confess I have not watched the anime in ages and cannot remember what Orihime's apartment looks like. I just tried to keep it vague and assumed her roof is the standard triangle thingamajigger. However, if it's wrong don't tell me! Otherwise I'll feel compelled to go back and fix it.

PREVIEW:

"If I don't feed on some form of spirit particles within the next 10 minutes. I will most likely absorb all humans with a low reiatsu level within a 4 mile radius without being able to stop myself."


End file.
